I bit the bullet yesterday; I grabbed my ipod, a bottle of water flavored with Iced Tea Peach and  went up into the attic to do battle with mound of hastily deposited and frequently pawed through stuff. Well, I got up there and I decided “battle” was not what I wanted to do. I chose to nibble my way into the middle of the beast.

Of course, you know I am doing this so I can put more stuff up in the attic and that makes even me sigh and shake my head. But, anyway, I worked for three hours up there and made a dent. I also immediately put my water bottle down and did not find it again until I had worked my way back to the pull-down stairs after those three hours. You guess it: sigh, sigh and sigh.

I filled several trash bags – big and little – while I was up there and right before I myself descended, I tossed them down. Then as I headed down myself, I let my mind wander and when I got to the visual level of the floor, I stepped off what I thought was the bottom step. But, no, those white trash bags were bulging more than I realized and I wound of tumbling sideways from the third step. Of course, my landing was cushioned, but the handrail snapped off.

Alison was up there and heard me and came running, inquiring, “Did you fall?” I didn’t think fast enough and said, “Only at the bottom.” I should have whimpered from my position on the trash, “Oh, it was awful,” and let people help me to the sofa and bring me snacks and goodies. Maybe I could have convinced someone that my aches could be soothed by going to the store and bringing me two boxes of Little Debbie Boston Cream Pies.  Or maybe three. Oh, the possibilities missed.

So, what should I do today?